Prologue: Wake Up

"Ugh..."

The tiny, nearly inaudible word escaped the teenaged boy's trembling lips, and he dug his fingernails into the dusty ground, managing a feeble attempt to drag his drowsy body out from under the cracked debris that had pinned him down.

The pain throbbed. It was deep and warm, but not in a good way.

It felt like someone had their hand in there and was squeezing his organs either gently or as hard as they could. When it waned, he could move—albeit slightly—and when it returned, he could only hold still and breathe, sucking in huge lungfuls of rusty air until the spasms had passed.

Shivering, he ignored the uncomfortable stickiness underneath him—he knew that the gooey crimson liquid was blood, his blood, and he would get sick just by looking at it.

The cracked skin of his rough palm met the back of his damp neck, and he brought it into his vision, blinking as his eyes strained to make out the wet, dark stains swabbed over the calloused surface like the strokes of an angsty artist—almost exactly matching the shades of his cardinal hair.

The victim gave a weak smile to himself as he successfully freed himself from the large bundle of scraps that he had been tangled in for the past few days, crawling into a sitting position.

His consciousness struggled to stay awake, floating in and out of his battered body. It was as if another being was grabbing at his soul, fighting its way into his frame.

The teenager's vision went completely dark for a moment, and when his eyes next fluttered open, they weren't dark amber like they were supposed to be--instead, the optics were a bright cobalt, literally ablaze with a harsh cyan light that burned through the pitch blackness of the night.

But the unusual colour of his optics wasn't the most worrying; instead, it was the pale, thin slitlike designs that formed two perfect crosses in his irises.

A voice escaped the cracked walls of his throat, an otherworldly articulation whose voice didn't belong to the half-dead boy.

"The prison of Life," he vocalised, smooth voice rich with emotions foreign to him. He didn't even know what he was speaking—an unknown force had subdued him, taking over his system and speaking with his body. "A waiting place for Fate."

As soon as the spirit seemed to finish its speech, the boy jerked rigid, paralysed with both shock and fear, barely managing to draw in strangled gasps of air through his parted lips.

His pupils were now tinted with their original bronze, and the injured boy's eyes dilated as his mouth opened, letting out a silent scream as his hands clawed at his hair desperately for a source to distract him from the burning agony curdling inside him, searing fiery bursts clawing through his heart like a wild, rampaging beast.

And as the pain faded, his skin paled, as if he'd been painted with whitewash, and a choking sound caught in his throat as he stared blankly ahead with a pair of wide eyes.

Then, the teenager crumpled to the floor, breathing slowing and eyes closed, the sight so peaceful one could almost believe that he was merely sleeping.

In his unconsciousness he was angelic, his face as fresh as a dewdrop, making soft, gentle noises as he breathed. His chest rose and fell with each intake of air, and all the previous traces and lines of pain on his skin had faded away.

A clear cyan mist of light escaped from his body, taking the shape of a large, palatial cervine and standing guard over the sleeping figure. A pair of large, elegant antlers was set atop her sleek head, and she carefully leant down, inspecting the boy with a hint of sorrow.

I am sorry you have to suffer like this, young one. The stag-like creature's otherworldly voice was tinged with regret. I cannot make it up to you in any way, and I am truly remorseful for this.

The two of them stayed still for a few aching moments longer, the night still and silent, before the majestic beast broke the fragile equilibrium, rising to her full height and giving the teenaged boy at her hooves one final glance.

Sleep, my boy.

And, with that, her form dissolved once more into a misty wisp of radiance that lit up the midnight-streaked canvas behind them.

⚔ ∰ ⚔

The prison was simple, really, and looked as if it had come out of a fairytale.

Firm, natural structures arched down in bars from the ceiling, white bases tinted with the faintest hue of an ethereal green, completely cutting the boy off from the outside world. Several similar cells followed, but unlike that small portion of the prison, they were completely deserted.

The boy's head was lowered, paper-thin eyelids shut as usual, dried blood clotting at the roots of his hair. He was perched on what resembled once pristine rock; but even the cleanliness of his seat was gone, marred by faded blood stains that had long dried up and left its lasting mark on the white slab.

He seemed to be in a unconscious; completely asleep with no sense of what was even happening, but his drowsy, trancelike movements proved otherwise.

Absentmindedly, he dipped his head sharply, biting into his arm and tearing his skin apart, a fresh, steady trickle of blood seeping out and spilling down the limb.

He didn't even flinch at his injury; instead, he seemed to be in a drugged state, arm falling limply by his side.

The boy was completely relaxed—a near impossible feat if you were attacking yourself of all people—as he dipped a finger in his new source of paint, hopping off his perch to reach the canvas beneath his feet.

It was a horrifyingly thrilling sight—dark and eerily macabre yet a work of art in itself—seeing the sweeping strokes of crimson liquid decorate the limestone floor in a hauntingly beautiful mural.

As if he was being controlled, his wrist flicked in quick, graceful movements, and drawing a simple picture became a frenzied dance, burning with overflowing emotions that had been locked up for far too long. Every stroke that graced the smooth grounds was a masterpiece in itself.

And, if he could just open his eyes for a second, he would have known that the creature in his artwork was the face of a stag, imperial and upright in all its glory.

But he continued sleeping.

⚔ ∰ ⚔

The teenaged boy clutched an object closely—and one would only be able to discern the crumpled article if they looked closely.

How he was able to make a mask—a sublime disguise—was a mystery, for there were no resources in the magical cavern, but after all, this was the Prison of Life, a place where even the most illogical of events could happen.

If such an area was powerful enough to bind Life itself, there was no telling where its capabilities stopped.

The sleeping figure automatically reached for a fresh wound at the back of his non-dominant hand, retrieving yet another glob of the dark ichor and holding it to the ceiling.

Instantly, as if traces of life was being breathed into the dull puddle, a flash of bright cobalt transformed the red fluid into a translucent, shimmering sheet of pale sapphire, the material so exquisite it seemed like it was made out of moonlight.

Subconsciously, he fidgeted with his new material, expertly weaving the fragile element into a suitable shape before joining the final piece with the other parts of his glistening veil.

Shakily, he fit the half mask onto his face, the visor seeming to snap into place automatically and shifting from time to time, adjusting itself to the boy's wan countenance.

That was his very first mask.

His cracked lips parted ever so slightly in a satisfied smile.

⚔ ∰ ⚔

"Hey."

The sound caused the boy to stir, and for a split-second, he thought he could feel his eyes crack open the tiniest fraction, a flash of dull, otherworldly green filling his vision—the vision that had been enveloped in black for what felt like eternity.

From the carousel of seemingly random ideas came some order—a subtle awareness of who he was under the flow of thoughts with their loose connections to his waking life. A lazy force pushed against the back of the mind, whispering at him to open his eyes.

The voice came once again, and he drifted in and out of unconsciousness, optics fluttering open just a little to reveal a glimpse of bright mercury.

"Wake up."

⚔ ∰ ⚔

It's finally here. =w=

It's really short, sorry ahaha it's going to be a really short novel

I don't have much to say.

My goal is...um, would 10 votes be pushing it? Lol. :3

Critiques are most certainly welcome, and don't forget to read, vote and give your thoughts in the comments! Please be 100% honest!

~ nyxia ☆